


Earth Skills: Reap What You Sow

by BeaRyan



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Aphrodisiacs, Cockblocking, Crack, F/M, Farmer Murphy, Fluff, Grounder Culture, Humor, M/M, Murphy POV, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Snark, happy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:39:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3607098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaRyan/pseuds/BeaRyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That week everyone got high on mutant corn and John Murphy realized juvenile prison might not have taught him everything he needed to know about how to please a woman.  Canon adjacent. </p><p>This is a Memori story from John Murphy's snark-tastic POV and as such contains minor whomp of everyone.  Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday Night: Arrival

John put down the binoculars and rubbed his eyes. He'd finally lost it. After nine months working on the farm near the lighthouse with only visits from Emori every 14 days to keep him company, his mind had decided to duck out to somewhere more pleasant. He couldn't blame it. Farming was exhausting and dull; his body would have followed if it could. Ah, well. If you couldn't play with your hallucinations, who could you play with? 

Answer: the cow had to be milked twice a day, the goats and sheep had to be milked once a day and the rest of the animals were decent company as long as he was bringing them food or water. The part of his brain he thought of as Murphy sneered at him and asked for the thousandth time why the hell he was breaking his back farming. The John part, the part that was sometimes actually happy, answered as he always did. There was food and power in his comfortable home, a closet full of weapons, and a sturdy lock on the front door. It didn’t get much better than this on earth in his experience, and Emori had told him he needed to farm if he wanted to stay. He hadn't yet figured out what she could ask him to do that he wouldn't, but mastering corn and sun drying tomatoes were on the "10/10 would do" list. 

Also on that list was Emori herself. One day. Maybe. If he could stop acting like a stupid, lovesick puppy every time she came near him. Jasper had more game than he did, and that was just embarrassing. 

John took another look through his binoculars to see if reality had settled back in, but the sailboat was still there, clearly visible even as the sun began to set, and cutting a path across the water towards the dock a quarter-mile away from the lighthouse. 

Of course he would hallucinate Bellamy, Clarke, and Raven. He dreamed about them often enough, torn between a thousand scenarios where he earned their trust and another thousand ways to reject them and tell them just how little he cared about their stupid, biased, self-serving opinions. It was easier for them to say Murphy was an ass than to admit Bellamy had instituted a reign of terror when he'd landed on Earth and Murphy's brutality had been right in line with Bellamy's Ark on Earth, obey or starve program. It wasn’t his fault Bellamy had changed the rules without warning. Clarke and Raven definitely weren't going to admit that their rejections played a bigger part in Finn's breakdown than anything Murphy had or hadn't done. 

If it had been just the three of them on the boat he'd have been certain that it was all just a dream, but Monty and Miller were there, as were Kane, Clarke's mom, some other adult from camp Jaha, Octavia and that Grounder she liked to bang, and two Grounder women. That gave him hope. Hope was dangerous, but knowing that didn't dispel it. Maybe once they'd rescued everyone from the Mountain they'd noticed he was missing. Maybe they'd come for him. 

He grabbed the electric gun Emori had taught him to use and then moved the bookcase back into place to conceal the weapons room, not that he planned to let them in the lighthouse, but if they did make their way in they weren't taking his arsenal. He wanted to trust them, wanted them to be his friends, but history had shown they probably weren't. He checked the charge on the weapon, locked the door to the lighthouse behind him, and made his way to the dock. 

"Murphy?" Bellamy's call was stunned. Not pleased, not relieved. Just shocked. 

John tried to make his expression blank, hiding that he'd just been punched in the gut. A blow you knew was probably coming was still a blow. He took the lines Bellamy threw to him and tied off the boat while the Grounders handled things on their side. No one asked how he knew how to dock a sailboat, and no one complimented him on being pretty damn good at it. They disembarked like they had a right to be there. 

"What are you doing here, Murphy?" Bellamy demanded. 

"Farming. And they call me John here."

"Who's 'they'?" 

"The locals. The people I sell my crops to." 

"You're a farmer?" 

Murphy shrugged. For a few minutes he'd thought he might be one of them, a Sky Person. Might be headed home, maybe with Emori, to a place where he was wanted and had friends. 

"We need supplies," Clarke said. 

John didn't answer. It wasn't a request to buy what he had to offer. It was a demand that he share, Ark style. They had a need and he had more than he needed. The end, at least in Clarke's mind. He wasn't going to fight her. Take it and go. Take anyone who calls me Murphy with you. Piss me off before you go and your boat won't be here when you get back. 

He led them to the ring of storage buildings, away from the lighthouse, and pointed as he talked. He wouldn’t pretend he could stop them from robbing him, but he wasn’t going to pack their bags for them either. "That one's the drying house. Nothing there is cured for long term storage but it will last a couple of weeks. That door leads to the root cellar. I’ve already got in some potatoes, turnips, and beets. All good stuff, but there's a lot of moisture in them and they're heavy if you're traveling. All the animals are for production, milk and eggs, so I don't have any meat, but there's plenty of cheese in the cave. The harder it is the older it is, but it's all edible. Take what you need."

"You left off half the buildings," Raven said suspiciously. 

"You staying to help me harvest? I can show you the chicken coop if you want. It needs fresh straw." He started gesturing broadly, ticking off buildings, and hoping he could go quickly enough that they'd let him gloss over the information he didn't plan to share. "That's a barn. It's where the animals sleep and I store things. That's the equipment shed. Hoes, shovels, buckets, carts. That tall thing a quarter mile up the path is the old lighthouse. Blow on it hard and it will come down on your head. One of the local tradesmen stores some stuff in the bottom of it and every time he pulls out his crap the chickens get a spider feast." John spun away from it and pointed to a closer building. "That's the corn crib. It holds corn." He kept pointing, ticking off, "Woodshed, storage, empty, path to the cheese cave. You've seen my dock." He turned on Raven and tried to shove aside the guilt he still felt about shooting her and glare her down. "Do you have any other questions?" 

The blond man from the Ark asked, "Where do you sleep?"

"Who are you and what makes you think I want to sleep with you?"

"I'm Kyle Wick, and I'm good, thanks. You didn't mention living quarters. Where do you live?" 

John scanned the man. He was softer than anyone John had met since Wells and used to begin taken seriously but never in charge. A sneer and the right tone should shut him down. "Bet you miss the Ark, don't you? The barn keeps off the rain. Smells like shit, literally, but if a wolf comes for my goats I'm there to handle it." 

Bellamy's patented "this has to be bullshit" expression was levelled right at John. "You guard your goats in your sleep? Are you fucking kidding me?" Staying calm while Bellamy wound up made the whole exchange better if still not worthwhile. 

John winked at him just for the joy of pissing him further off and started walking towards his cheese cave, leading them as far from the lighthouse as he could get without leaving the farm. "Come on. You can try some cheese, the real stuff, not those blocks of what-the-fuck they used to shove at us on the Ark. How many days' supply do you need to take with you?" 

Octavia said, "You're really just going to give us some food and send us away?" 

"You didn't come looking for me, baby samurai, and the sooner you get gone the sooner I can get back to work. August is a harvest time on a farm and the milking never stops. I don't have days to waste entertaining you." 

"We'll earn our supplies with our labor," one of the Grounder women said. 

Clarke answered, "Lexa, we don't have time. We have to stop A.L.I.E." 

"We have to preserve our honor," the second Grounder answered. "We aren't thieves." When he heard her voice, John remembered her. Anya. She looked different without the war paint, but it was her. She'd ordered them to put him in a cell and told him she would return with the Commander. She hadn’t been there when he was interrogated, but still, the sooner they left the better. Emori had explained that the Grounders he'd known were tree people while she was one of the desert people. She'd said the groups tolerated each other at best. If he had to pick a side, John would choose straightforward robbery in the sand over torture, germ warfare and axes flying out of trees every time. 

"Fine," John answered. "A day's work from everybody and then you can all pack up and get the hell out." 

"We'll start at first light," Bellamy said. 

The temptation to tell Bellamy that he wasn't in charge here, to crush him the way Kane had when he'd arrived on Earth, was strong, but the desire to have someone else muck out the stables and work the fields was stronger. John just nodded and kept leading them towards the cheese cave to pick out dinner. In the morning he'd give them chores that kept them well away from the lighthouse and after that they'd be gone, and well out of the way before Emori arrived on Friday.


	2. Tuesday: Linctavia

Lexa and Anya had spent the night on the ship, but the Sky People all stayed with John in the barn. They snuggled down in the hay, covered themselves with horse blankets and breathed, loudly, while a thousand bits of straw stabbed him in the back. Bellamy sat propped up against the wall until Kane relieved him. They claimed they were taking turns keeping lookout for A.L.I.E.'s drones, but from the way Bellamy glared at him John was certain that A.L.I.E. wasn't the only one they didn't trust. He'd have been insulted if there wasn’t some truth to it, but he wasn't going to let them in the lighthouse just out of self-defeating pride. Even if he showed them everything they'd still hold it against him that he hadn't packed it all up and sailed it back to Camp Jaha like a gift. Better to just get the night and the next day over and then send them on their way. 

When the rooster crowed he stirred. Normally he muttered a curse, rolled over in his comfortable bed, and went back to sleep, but no one needed to know that. They were here and willing to put in a full day's work, so he might as well get as much out of them as he could. He dumped Bellamy, Raven, Clarke, and Wick in the barn. He gave them a quick overview of mucking out stalls, showed them the pump for hauling water to the troughs, and tied up Ophelia, the cow; Desdemona and Bianca, the sheep; and Lady MacBeth, the goat for milking. They'd probably spill more than they got in the buckets and with stalls being mucked while the milking was going on there was no way in hell he was drinking whatever they did get, but he wasn't letting his animals get mastitis just because he had unexpected house guests. 

He set most of the rest of the group to work weeding and harvesting various patches in the seven acre garden. They wanted food they could carry with them, so he put them on the carrots, beets, radishes and onions, pointing out the difference between plants he wanted to keep and weeds and how to tell if whatever they were working was ready for picking. They could pull what they wanted and then keep pulling and put the harvest in the root cellar. Emori would take most of it with her when she came on Friday and he’d eat the rest himself sooner or later. 

Rows of corn, gold kernels in dark green leaves to the left, red kernels in bright green leaves to the right, gradually obscured the groups working the fields as Lincoln and Octavia followed him, each pushing a cart and carrying a machete, to the far end of the field where the ears were ready for harvest. He showed them how to chop the stalks at the base and then toss them in the cart and cautioned them to keep the red and the yellow corn separate. 

Murphy worked with them, hacking through the stalks with two quick blows, and tossing them into the cart with a practiced hand. Lincoln and Octavia quickly fell into rhythm, battling the stalks like the were severing a limb and chucking them like spears, until the carts were full. As they walked to the corn crib, Lincoln and Octavia pushing loaded carts this time, Lincoln asked, "Whose farm is this?" 

"Mine," John answered. 

"You didn't do all this yourself," Lincoln said.

"No one else cares enough to ask. Why should you?" 

"No one else knows how much work has gone into this place. No one else has farmed on Earth."

Octavia stopped abruptly, forcing Lincoln who was trailing behind her, to stop, too. "You farmed?" 

"Everyone helps with harvest except the highest of the leaders." His eyes caught Murphy's. "Who is coming to help you harvest?" 

"Emori's brother and his crew I guess. They brought in the plow in the spring. Emori helped me put in the seed; we spaced it out so it’s not all ripe at once; and she stops by every two weeks to take whatever's ready with her and tell me what I'm screwing up."

"She gave you the hodness dina?" 

"The what?" 

"The red corn," Lincoln said. "It is very rare. Costly." 

"It's also a pain in the ass," Murphy said. He led the way into the semi-darkness of the corn crib. Light filtered through the spaces between the wide planks and into the center aisle where they parked the carts of harvested corn. 

John snapped an ear off a stalk and began shucking, tossing the husks and silks into a barrow he'd dump in the goat pen and the stalks into a pile for drying in the woodshed. "Shucked red corn goes in here." He demonstrated, dropping the corn into one of two openings in the large crib where whole ears were slowly dried by the air moving through the openings between the planks of the walls. He pointed to an identical crib on the other side of the aisle that cut through the building. "Yellow corn is the same, but it goes on that side."

Octavia walked the length of the building and stopped at the pen with low, solid walls at the far end of the aisle. Five feet wide, eight feet long and filled to a depth of two feet with hard, shiny, brick red corn kernels, it looked like a bed of rolling fire. Octavia leaned over and ran her hand through it, leaving ripples like a pattern in damp sand.

Lincoln smiled. "Emori taught you how to take them off the cob when they're dry?" 

John nodded. 

Lincoln's knowing smile grew. "When she comes to see you, she always helps you prepare the red corn? You do it together?" 

"She does a lot of things," John answered. "Which is a hell of a lot more than either of you are doing right now." Emori was separate from his old life. He should have kept it that way. He turned a cart on its side and dumped the contents on the floor of the crib walkway. "Get shucking. I'll get another load." 

Murphy forced himself to toss a casual wave to Abby who stood up from her weeding to wave to him as he crossed back to the corn field. Sure, Doc. Everything's fine. I'm not sweating like the liar I am about everything I just managed not to say and worse about the things I did say. 

The truth was, he had no idea whose farm this was or what was so special about the red corn. He didn't even know how long he'd been in the lighthouse when Emori found him. He'd felt drunk when he heard someone pounding on the door, but he couldn't remember drinking recently. He'd come running down the stairs at the noise and when he'd seen her he'd said, "Hey girl! How bout you come in and get knocked on your ass with me and we'll call it even." Hey girl?!? What kind of chode said 'Hey girl'? 

She'd grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the building, half dragging him to the barn where she'd forced him to drink water and then rest. When he'd awoken in the morning she'd handed him a dish of roasted vegetables and asked, "How many times do I have to save your life?" 

He'd said, "You knocked me out and sent me through a mine field." 

"I didn't let my people kill yours and I sent you to the closest drinkable water." 

Perspective was everything. 

She’d told him that those who tried to live in the lighthouse without permission went mad. They had shivered together in the barn throughout the winter, tending the animals, huddling for warmth, and making plans. Her brother had come in to drop off supplies a few times, and although John couldn't understand their words, he knew their fights were about him. The day Otan brought the plow was also the day he told John it would be safe to live in the lighthouse and the day Emori had told him she was leaving. They'd never even kissed but he still felt like she'd dumped him. She'd come back two weeks later, just like she'd promised, and they'd settled into their routine. She wouldn't sleep in the lighthouse though - she said she didn’t have permission - and she insisted that he must. She said it was his duty as the Keeper of the Land. She was the most practical superstitious person he'd ever met. 

He eyeballed his cart and guessed he could get a few more stalks in without them spilling out as he pushed the whole thing back to the corn crib. He cursed with each swing of his machete. Stupid. Fucking. Harvest. Ritual. She wouldn't even tell him what it was, just that it was important, she thought he'd like it, and once it was all done she'd sell the corn at market (keeping enough seed for next year’s crop) and they'd be a lot more comfortable this winter than they'd been the last. She wouldn't say what that meant either. 

He grabbed the handles of the cart and maneuvered the wide wheels over the ruts of his field and back towards the corn crib. When he was fifty yards away he heard a high pitched cry and drew the machete he'd used to chop the corn. Baby Blake should have been able to handle a deer if one had wandered into his corn crib again, and if she couldn't then Lincoln should have. A sound like that meant something was off. He left his cart out of the way, allowing himself a clear exit if he needed one, and slipped inside and into a shadow.

Octavia was complete naked, writhing in the bed of red corn kernels with Lincoln's head buried between her legs. As she cycled through whimpering and panting, John tried to figure out where Lincoln's hands were. They definitely weren't copping a feel, which John had thought was what you were supposed to do in this situation, and Octavia had one hand on her own nipple, twisting in a way he'd been told was too rough. Apparently not for some people. 

She cried out again, the sound even higher pitched this time, and then begged, "Lincoln, please!" John couldn't even tell what it was that she wanted Lincoln to please do, but he was pretty certain he'd never heard a woman make a sound like that. He'd definitely never made one make it. 

Lincoln moved up the length of her body, trailing kisses and shuffling out of his pants as he moved, and when John finally processed exactly what he was seeing, two naked people about to fuck on top of Emori's favorite crop, he said loudly, "How about you two don't jizz in my food?" 

"Get out, pervert!" Octavia yelled. 

"Get out of my corn!" 

Lincoln stood up, picking up Octavia with him, and stepped over the low wall of the corn bed. 

"I like the corn," Octavia protested. 

Lincoln said, "It's theirs for the harvest ritual." 

"What do you know about the harvest ritual?" 

"Leave now and I'll tell you everything you need to know." 

"Just don't fuck in my corn." 

Lincoln nodded. 

"And don't tell anyone anything about any of this. Emori, the ritual. None of it." 

"Agreed," Octavia said. "Now get out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Please let me know if you see something.


	3. Wednesday Morning: Lincoln's Advice and Kabby

As he tried to fall asleep, Lincoln's words rolled around his mind like boulders in a landslide, crashing into the walls of his skull with images of embarrassing himself and disappointing Emori. 

"Your people have birth control implants and computers to play with. It's made you lazy. Stick it in, come once, and everyone is done."

John must have looked terrified or confused, because after that Lincoln had chosen softer words and a tone not dissimilar to the one John used when lightning spooked the sheep. He'd hated himself for forgetting to hide his weakness. Hated that most of his experience consisted of copping a quick feel or shoving his hand down a girl's pants while Mbege and whatever friend she'd brought to the Sky Box rec yard stood lookout. Hated that he'd only lost his virginity because a friend of a friend knew she was getting floated and she wanted to "do a good deed" before she died, and the second time the girl had thought the path to King Bellamy started with John. He hadn't corrected her. 

"You have no children, no enemies nearby, and many hours to waste. You're done when she begs you to stop. Aim for three orgasms."

John's eyes must have bugged again, because Lincoln had continued. "She may not even want sex as your people think of it. She'll know how likely she is to get a baby from it and if she's willing to take the risk. You can still please each other."

"I have the implant." 

"And if you tell her that it will be six months at most before she lets the news slip to someone else who cuts off your arm to get it from you." 

It was the truth. Emori was a thief with a special interest in technology, as were all the people she knew, and under John's bicep, close to the bone, was the holy grail of body programming. He didn't know how it worked, but he was confident they'd want it. 

"So then what do I do with her?" The question had slipped out before he remembered that he was supposed to already know and that he and Lincoln weren't really friends. "Nevermind." 

"I can tell you some of what you need to know, but you'll have to pay attention to her to know what works for her." 

"Why would you help me?" 

"My people tortured you, and yet still you tried to stop Finn.” 

John tried to make sense of it, but it didn’t add up. Torture plus massacre does not equal sex tips. 

Lincoln said, “You don’t deserve to die. We're going to leave and you're going to stay. You need her and her people, and you don't know enough to keep her." 

"So teach me, Sensei." 

It had been a hell of a lecture and he'd paid more attention to Lincoln's graduate level sex ed class than in all his years of schooling combined. However, he'd forgotten to ask what the hell the harvest ritual was and why the damn corn was so important. He was a little afraid of what he might be learn, but he planned to ask anyway.

\--- XXX ----

The rooster crowed and John rolled over into a face full of hay for the second day in a row. As soon as they were done with breakfast the Sky People would head off on their quest and good riddance. Lincoln had given him a lot to think about last night, and he needed to get back to the lighthouse, fire up the computers and do some research. The whispered sex tips passed around the Sky Box about how to get off without getting caught hadn't prepared him for an Earth Girl. As his hands twisted into some of the shapes Lincoln had shown him he wondered if any of it really worked or if this was just a form of bullying he hadn't encountered yet. 

The others were stirring and he heard the shift of a pack, a few whispers and then agreement from Bellamy, who didn't bother to be quiet as he told someone, "Take a different one and get going." 

Morning people were the worst. Maybe he could convince Bellamy to take the rooster with him and they could scream at each other at dawn every morning. 

Heavy boots clomped across the wooden floor and stopped next to John. He waited for the nudge, the boss proving he could toe you and you'd take it, but it didn't come. Not a good sign. 

"Where is it?" Bellamy demanded. 

"Where is what?" 

"The solar battery from the walkie. Give it back." 

"I haven't touched your walkies. Couldn't have taken the battery." He forced himself to stretch - look how much I don't fear you Bellamy - and didn't let himself curl into a protective ball as he sat up. 

"We don't have time for this, Murphy. In case you haven't realized it, you live on Earth now. If A.L.I.E. destroys it, you die with the rest of us." 

"Good to know. I still don't have it." 

"I swear to God, Murphy..." 

Clarke placed her hand on Bellamy's bicep, and the arm he'd drawn back moved to a more neutral position. She whispered, "Maybe he didn’t do it. We know where he was yesterday. Whose walkie is it?" 

“Octavia’s.” Bellamy gave it to her. She turned it over in her hand, examining the empty battery compartment, and then untwisted a long white strand from the base of the antenna. She took it to the brightest part of the room, placing it in direct sunlight for inspection where it vaguely glowed as it reflected the sun’s energy. She brought it back across the room to Murphy. "What is this?" 

"Cornsilk," he said. Turing to Bellamy with a smirk he continued, "Why don't you ask your shucking sister what she was up to yesterday? Give you a hint. She was shucking." 

Bellamy's fist drew back, but Clarke's hand gently tugged him back and Bellamy surrendered to her lead and moved to the other side of the room to confer with some of the others. John couldn't hear what they said, but Kane, fully dressed and looking entirely too chipper, joined their conversation and then approached John. He was earnest in a way that made John wanted to punch him. Marcus offered a hand to help John up and said, "Help me retrace Octavia's steps." 

"And why can't she do it herself?" 

"She and Lincoln have already left to scout ahead. The rest of us will be out of your way as soon as we find the battery." 

"Wouldn't this work better if everyone looked?" 

"Some are packing. Some are planning. You've got me," Kane said. 

"And me," Abby said. "I'd like to talk with you." 

"Oh goody." 

\-----xxx ----

As they searched the field of exposed dirt and corn stalk stumps where Lincoln, Octavia, and John had worked yesterday, Abby tried to convince Murphy him to return to Camp Jaha with them when they finished fighting A.L.I.E. John tried to stick to a series of non-committal grunts, but she pressed on, relentlessly pursuing his submission. 

When he'd had enough, he stood up, faced her, waited for her to make eye contact and asked, "How are the real 100 doing?" 

"What do you mean? You've seen them. They're doing well. They're leaders. Clarke’s even on the Council." 

"Yeah, but what about the delinquents? Not the kids from Alpha station or engineering. Not the guy with guard training and his own army. The kids whose dead parents used to work in Factory or Maintenance. The ones you were so sure were going to float you didn't even bother with general education in the Sky Box. How are they doing? How's Monroe? How's Fox?"

Abby looked to Kane who looked away. 

"That's what I thought." He kicked at the dirt, stomping down a weed. "Let's check the corn crib." 

He led them to the building by the same path he’d taken with Lincoln and Octavia yesterday and they searched the ground as they went. It hadn’t rained last night - good for the search, bad for the crops - and their scan of the exposed dirt of the rutted path was fruitless. 

The dimly lit corn crib where Octavia and Lincoln had spent most of the day required more careful attention. Marcus shuffled through the pile of discarded stalks while John moved a barrowful of husks and silks from one pile to another, and Abby poked through the cribs of drying full ears. When Kane finished with stack and still couldn't find it, John gestured to the bed of red kernels. It was where Octavia and Lincoln had slipped out of their clothes, and it was probably where the battery had slipped out of her walkie, too. 

"They were working in the red kernels."

Abby hopped the low wall into the trough and Kane followed. Two was enough for the size of the space, and they both started pawing through the kernels, their moods seemingly improving by the minute despite the fruitlessness of their search.

Marcus used his hands to scoop up the corn and let the kernels slip through his fingers in a slow shower, and when his hands were empty he refilled them and repeated the show as Abby stared at his hands. When he reached for a third scoop, she touched the back of his hand and traced a slow line up his forearm with one finger. 

“It healed well,” she said. “Did I ever tell you those were the first stitches I ever did unsupervised?” 

“No. I only remember that it hurt like hell and I was too determined to play it tough for the pretty young doctor to complain.” 

“That’s what Doctor Winter counted on. It’s why she gave you to me and put us behind the curtain. We were out of anesthesia, but she said, ‘Hope makes a man quietly endure what he otherwise couldn’t.’ It was the quiet part that was important to her.” 

Marcus huffed a quick laugh and Abby responded with a soft chuckle of her own but didn’t let go of his hand.

From the his spot near the husks, seemingly forgotten, John suggested, "It's a battery so it's heavy, right? Shove your hand down to the bottom. It's a solid wood floor. You'll know when you hit it." 

Kane smiled like a leading man in a black and white movie, all teeth and glazed joy and said, "I think we've got this. When you're done with that pile why don't you check the field again?" 

Abby blushed at that and John rolled his eyes. They'd been more interesting when they were constantly on the verge of hate fucking with a side of shock-wand play. The smitten tween thing was just gross. 

John walked to the goat and sheep pen pushing the load or sorted husks and silks. He'd dumped another load yesterday afternoon. If the battery had gone in the trough with their food, the animals had probably tried to eat it. If they were hurt, he was going to find someone to make miserable and then chase them all right he hell off his farm. 

The animals needed to come out of their stalls in the barn and get some exercise in the outdoor pen. He needed to get them all milked, fed, watered before lunch, too. The stalls needed cleaning again because Bellamy could apparently shovel the proverbial shit when he was talking but couldn’t work an actual shovel when an animal's health was at stake. 

Fuck everything. He didn't have time for this Sky People shit. 

John gave the small animals' mouths each a quick check before he led them out of their stalls and into the outside pen. The sheep cooperated and moved quickly, and Lady MacBeth, the goat, leaned against him as soon as he opened her pen. He gave her a scratch behind the ears and was rewarded with a pleased bleat. She was an evil creature, prone to escaping and rearing up on her hind legs to yell at him when she was mad, and he liked her more for it. She followed him as he led the way to the outer yard but balked when he opened the gate. 

"Get in," he ordered. She bleated again, and he'd have sworn she was calling him names. "Get in," he said, this time a little louder. 

"She's not very cooperative," Clarke noted as she came around the corner. “Maybe if you were nicer to her she’d come around.” 

"Yeah, well my old goat wants to be milked and from the way she was looking at Kane yours is the same." 

"Ignore him," Bellamy said. "He's just trying to get a rise out of you." 

"Yeah, like your mom and Kane's pants." 

Bellamy leaned against the barn wall and smirked as the goat stood her ground. "Mama jokes Murphy? Really? You’re slipping." 

"If you don't believe me, why don't you go help them look? You don’t look like you’re doing anything and I thought this battery was supposed to be important. When Kane told me to get lost they were holding hands in the corn crib. If it all got popped by hot flashes I'm going to be pissed." 

Clarke and Bellamy traded looks, and as the "should we" glances transformed to "I'll go if you will" shrugs and slow, deliberate steps towards the corn crib, Murphy wondered how many times Abby and Kane had gotten caught dipping a toe in the water. If you loved them, you wanted your parents to be happy, but that didn’t mean you wanted to know about it. 

Clarke held back as Bellamy entered the corn crib, let out a startled shout, and quickly stepped back, preventing Clarke from entering. A few minutes later, Abby and Kane exited the back side of the building, avoiding Clarke and Bellamy and separating without a word to each other. Kane headed towards the barn, but when he looked up and saw Murphy he retreated and put on a show of searching the grounds for the presumably still missing battery. Abby moved towards the dock as if she were being pursued. 

When the building was clearly empty of its previous occupants, Bellamy and Clarke entered.

"Just don't fuck in my corn," Murphy muttered.


	4. Wednesday Afternoon

John surrendered the fight to get the goat in the pen and gave her what she wanted. Food and attention made the world go round after all. While he was at it, he handled his easy chores with the other animals, too. Forty minutes later, they were all milked and he'd put out more water and food. The stalls needed going over, but that could wait until he got the Arkers on their way. Bellamy and Clarke were still sequestered in the corn crib, and given what the place had done to Lincoln and Octavia and then Abby and Kane, he needed to go make sure they stayed focused on finding the stupid battery. What the hell was it about the corn crib that made people from the Ark lose their minds? 

Hell, it had happened to him, too. The dim light, the mindlessness of shucking and tossing, the comfort of a building that was somewhat sheltered from the elements but still let in enough breeze to smell fresh. He and Emori always saved the corn as the final chore when she came to visit and often they were still sequestered in the crib long past dusk. Their conversations kept going even when they ran out of chores, and in that protected space she'd learned more about him than he'd ever revealed to anyone else. The dyslexia and the early end to his schooling hadn't phased her; she couldn’t read well either. Her own family background was as twisted as his. 

She'd tried to explain once what it meant to live as a stain on her bloodline, forever without a tribe. Her parents and brother had been driven out because they had let a mutant, her, live. She carried a lot of guilt about that, and she worried about Otan who worried about her in return. They reminded him of Octavia and Bellamy. She said she didn’t have a home, but she had a family. What would it be like to have a love that ran that deep? Someone who knew who you were and stuck by you anyway. He kept waiting for her to learn the thing about him that made her reject him, but they were already past the worst of it, the worst of him, and she still smiled when she docked her boat and gave him a quick hug as soon as her feet touched dry land. 

He was certain that, when they inevitably parted ways, the rejection wouldn’t come from him. He didn’t like people easily, but he loved recklessly. If she turned on him he’d manage to hate her for a while, but it was too late to think he’d ever be able to tear her completely out of his heart. 

Her hand bothered her - it had set her place in her world just as firmly as his had been set on the Ark - and no amount of words would convince her that what she'd been told her entire life was a steaming pile of bullshit to him. At least she didn't hide it from him anymore. That was something. Maybe he was something to her. 

“We’re ready to join the search!”

John startled at the sudden intrusion to his thoughts and tried to pull together a verbal bomb, but something in Monty’s posture stopped him. The kid had been gentle and optimistic when they’d landed. Those weren’t qualities that served you well on Earth. 

John glanced at Miller who stood just behind Monty, his posture every bit as rigid as Monty’s was crushed. John hadn’t known him well, but Miller had seemed OK enough. He’d been angry, deeply and constantly as many of them had been after they’d landed, but he kept it in check by sheer force of will. Loyalty and order had meant something to him. He might have even objected to the way Murphy had been treated, but they’d never had a chance to talk about it. They weren’t going to do it now either. 

“The king and queen are in the corn.” John gestured to the building. “That way.” 

Monty forced as spring into his step and quickly crossed the dirt yard to the dilapidated building, kicking up a trail of dust as he moved ahead of his companions. 

“Who’s he faking it for?” John asked. 

“Himself,” Nathan answered. 

Monty stopped in the doorway, froze briefly and then, wide eyed and pale, turned back to John and Nathan.

Nathan started to spring, but John grabbed his arm. “Quickly, but quietly.” 

They moved stealthily across the yard to cover the door to the corn crib. Nathan took the position to the left of the door, closest to Monty, and scanned the area for something to use as a weapon. John took the right, the spot with the best view of the red kernels. 

Lincoln had been right about at least one thing, the neck was an erogenous zone. Bellamy was sucking on the back of Clarke’s like a vampire with bad aim as they knelt in the corn pit. Clarke moaned loudly and pressed back against him while he slipped one hand under the hem of her shirt. If he’d been alone, Murphy would have let the show go on, but since Monty looked like he couldn’t choose between passing out and throwing up, there was no way he’d get to see the end of this live action porno. He put a finger to his lips, gesturing for silence but let a smug smile through and gestured towards the corn, encouraging Nathan to take a look. 

Nathan peeked through the door and then quickly pulled back out, his face practically a cartoon of shock. John glanced back at the show and saw that somehow Bellamy had gotten Clarke nude from the waist up in the last thirty seconds without ever moving from his place behind her. Dammit. This could have been educational, but the way Nathan and Monty were gaping at each other like fish on the shore, class was almost over. Well, if he was going to be left wanting then he wasn’t the only one.

He yelled, “How long has Bellamy been fucking the princess?”

Nathan and Monty both scrambled to quiet him, grabbing him by the arm to drag him away, but he kicked over a rake just in case the would be lovers had somehow missed his question and it clattered against the wheelbarrow, ringing out the sharp sound of metal hitting metal, on its way to the ground.

“Oops. Sorry,” he apologized, stepping fully into the corn crib to address Bellamy and Clarke. “We can take over the search for the battery if you two need to hit the woods for a couple minutes against a tree.” 

The moment Clarke realized she was topless was almost as gratifying as the view itself. She may have been condescending as all hell and somehow never missed a chance to make his life just that tiny bit worse that pushed it from tough to the edge of unbearable, but she had a great rack. 

She scrambled for her shirt and Bellamy did what he could to shield her while trying to glare down Murphy. “Are you alone?” 

“Nope. Monty and Miller got an eyeful, too. Judging by poor Monty’s bug eyes, you two are usually a little more discreet around the kids.” 

“There is no usually,” Clarke snapped. 

Bellamy shook off the kernels as he stood up and turned his attention to Clarke. Emotions danced across his face and Clarke ignored them all in her haste to get to the door. 

Bellamy followed, pausing only to glance at Nathan and order, “Search the corn.” 

Nathan stepped into the room and got to work, but Monty remained outside, staring into the semi-darkness of the corn crib suspiciously and searching the shadows. 

“There’s nothing weird in here now,” John promised. “Just corn.”

Monty said, “Maybe I should go see if Raven and Wick need help. They’re making a combo heat sensor and metal detector. They might need an extra set of hands.” 

Nathan already had both arms pressed through the kernels and was systematically searching the corn bed, slinding his hands through the shifting mass and along the floor. “Murphy can go. I need you with me.” There was a slight catch in his voice as he said it, and Monty blushed. 

Murphy debated a response. Monty had never been a bad guy, just soft, and Nathan had never done him any wrong. As he left he said, “I’ll be back soon with Raven and Wick. If you don’t want people walking in on you, there’s a latch on the tack room door in the barn and some blankets in the trunk in there.” 

They weren’t in the corn crib when he returned.


	5. Wednesday Afternoon, Thursday, Friday Morning

John stepped into the corn bin and held out his hand for the device Raven had built to find the battery. “Show me how to run it,” John ordered.

“Get out of the way,” Raven said.

“He’s an idiot,” Murphy countered, tossing a glare at Wick, “And you hobble. I should be the one who goes in the corn.” 

“And why do I hobble Murphy?” 

“Because I’m a jackass. Because I figured nobody but Octavia liked Bellamy all that much and shot you when I meant to shoot her.” 

“Miscalculated the hell out of that one, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah, I did. It was Lord of the Flies back then, and he was just the dick telling everyone what they wanted to hear. I was busy being tortured during the days when he transformed from self-serving asshole into the people’s asshole.” He looked away, letting his eyes roam the room without really seeing anything. “Still sorry you got a knife in the back and permanent damage because of me.” 

Raven handed him the small board used to collect the tangle of wires and scavenged parts. “Red means it’s on. Green means a statistically significant heat variance. The screech means metal. You want a loud sound and a green light. Go slowly over it in a grid pattern.”

Fifteen minutes later the battery was recovered, and ten minutes after that John’s guests were ready to leave. Abby tried to squeeze in a final bit of motherly / Chancellory wisdom, but John dodged her and positioned himself so the Grounder women stood between him and anyone who thought they knew him. Bellamy led the way out into the woods and off the farm and Anya brought up the rear. When Lexa had moved a few yards ahead, Anya turned to John. “If you have to drug her, it won’t last.” 

“Drugs?” 

“The red corn.” 

With that said, she fell into step behind Anya and everything fell into place for John. 

Lincoln’s lessons now made more sense. He’d been glad for the information, but it had been a hell of a thing for the man to volunteer just because he thought John could buy a place to live with his dick. And no wonder Emori had said they'd have a comfortable winter if they sold some corn and kept some. Drugs always sold well on the Ark, of course they would on Earth, too, especially an aphrodisiac as powerful as the corn obviously was. He also had a better idea of what the harvest ritual might be and every variation of the images seemed like the best offer he'd ever gotten. 

John forced himself through the chores he couldn’t skip without jeopardizing the animals or the crops, killing to until he was certain they were gone and getting done the bare minimum to make the farm function. When he was certain they were gone, he ran back to the lighthouse and got to work on the task that truly interested him. 

"Computer," he ordered. "I need porn. The educational kind."

"I have over 3 million files which include the tags pornography and education or their synonyms."

"Ummm... Whatever the last one viewed was." The image flashed quickly on the screen. A plaid skirt folded up to expose a reddened bottom. A wooden paddle. A tear stained face. "NO! Get rid of that. Just... No! She'd stab me. What the hell is that?" 

"The file is labelled 'The Sexual Education of Jenni'." 

"OK, let's try again. Educational files. Keyword phrase 'female sexual pleasure.' Give me some ways to refine the search."

"Language?"

"English."

"Audio, video, print, or other media?" 

"Video."

"I have thirty-seven choices available." 

"Give me the list." 

Two hours later, John was sure of three things. One: The three orgasm minimum Lincoln had told him about had developed after the nuclear war. Two: The rest of Lincoln's advice had been rock solid, suggesting that his other requirement was probably reliable. Three: John needed a long shower to think things over. 

\-- XXX--

By the time he went to bed Wednesday night John was certain everyone on the Ark had been right about him; he was destined to disappoint anyone stupid enough to count on him. Thursday brought even more information, including some suggested practice activities, and, while he still wasn’t at all certain he could please Emori, he could deseed a tomato with his tongue and he’d made the mental shift from getting off as quickly as he could, the way he’d alway done in lock up, to a much slower and more controlled approach. Now that he know what was possible (and might even be expected) the odds of it all going horribly wrong seemed higher. Emori wasn’t just some girl trying to stave off the boredom. She was someone he wanted to make happy. Failure wasn’t an option. 

Friday morning he'd just finished with the milking when he saw Emori's boat on the horizon. He wasn’t prone to patriotism and the whole flag show for Unity Day had never impressed him, but the sight of that blue and gold flag always made his heart beat a little faster. He ran through his options and debated his next move. Emori usually didn't arrive until after lunch and it was barely midmorning. He didn't have time to run back to the lighthouse for a full shower, but he could wipe off with water from the pump and at least smell less like a barn. Of course then he'd be wet when she arrived and to her this was just another visit. She didn't know that he knew about the aphrodisiac. 

Hiding what you wanted when all anyone really wanted was the basics: food, friendship, and, if you were lucky, fucking. It was like being back at the dropship. Hell, it was like his whole damn life. 

The day’s chores seemed to drag on forever, and twice the hands did not make for half the work. Her hand may have technically been partially disabled, but he was the one who could barely manage pruning shears or picking beans. Finally they’d done enough that he could suggest they skip to the corn. She smiled at him, tossed a machete from the workbench into the wheelbarrow, and headed towards the field. “I’m glad you like our time with the corn. I do, too.” 

He made it through cutting and shucking the first wheelbarrow full before he asked, "So when is the harvest ritual anyway?" 

"We still have an acre of corn to harvest and dry. Probably about six weeks." She glanced at him and then quickly looked away, blushing. 

John moved beside her and let his hand rest on her upper arm. She started, her eyes moving first to the place where he touched her and then up to meet his. 

“Do we have to wait six weeks?” he asked. 

She stood frozen, no answer, no movement at all, just wide pupils and shallow breaths. Most of the advice he’d found in the last few days could be boiled down to “go slowly enough that you’re moving together instead of pushing,” but restraint didn’t come naturally to him. When she bit her lip, he read that as a cue and leaned in, gently kissing the skin she’d tormented. She made a small sound; gentle, surprised and helpless; nothing he’d ever associated with her before, but she stayed with the kiss, moving slowly, neither advancing the moment nor retreating from it. 

John’s grip on her arm tightened and his free hand formed a fist as he fought for restraint. Mentally he chided himself - SLOW! - but the rest of his body was ready to race. He pulled away before he lost the battle with himself and tried to push her faster than she wanted to go. He leaned his forehead against hers and between ragged breaths said, “We don’t need to wait for the harvest. You don’t have to drug me.” 

“But I need the corn,” she whispered. 

it wasn’t a hanging, but it was close. This was why he didn’t trust people. 

"You have to be high to want to be with me?!" He stepped away from her, shoving with the hand that was still on her arm as he moved. "Fuck you. Or I guess, don't. Whatever." 

John stormed away, back to the lighthouse where he knew she wouldn't follow and fast enough that she couldn't catch up easily. He broke into a run once he rounded the corner and was out of sight and didn't slow until he was safe inside and had slammed the door behind himself. Fuck! "No" was one thing. He'd been told "No" plenty. That was just part of life. This was a slap. Betrayal. This was Raven pretending to forgive, asking for his help, and then offering him up to the Grounders. This was following Bellamy's example of justice and then getting banished for it. She was just like everyone else. He had no value to her. Just a way to get food and scratch an itch if she could just lower herself to his level. 

His throat burned and tears threatened but he refused to let them fall. There shouldn't have been anything surprising about another disappointment. People were assholes. Even a pretty girl with a soft voice who smiled at you and always made sure she left you enough to eat before she left. 

He wanted a drink, a lot of drinks, and his hand shook as he started to pour one, splashing out a dark golden stream into a tumbler, but he stopped and dumped the contents back into the bottle. He'd seen his mother bury herself like this, drowning what she couldn't bear, and he wouldn't do it. Booze was for a celebration. Rage needed to be refined and channelled into strength, not dulled. This was no time to be weak. He needed a plan. He needed the damn tears to stop. 

He had a high tech bunker. It could be used for more than just researching sex tips and goat diseases. "Computer, where's Emori?" 

An image came up on the television. Emori had followed him, just not quickly enough to stop him. She was outside his door, sitting on the ground and leaning against the wall with tears running down her face. She wiped her sleeve against her nose and slapped her head back against the wall. She seemed to pause for a moment, concentration evident in her expression as her thoughts assembled and then she stared directly into the camera and used her good hand to point at the bad one. 

"Computer, did you send a drone after her?"

"Confirmed." 

"Does it have sound?" 

"The drone is capable of generating sounds louder than 210 decibels. Human death at 185 decibels." 

"Good to know. Can I hear her?" 

"The drone is equipped with a microphone." 

"Turn it on." 

"It is on. Ambient noise has been filtered. Emori is generating no sound." 

"Dammit!" The glass shook in his hand and he considered smashing it just to see it break. The need to upset this situation, to change something as drastically as Emori had changed everything when she'd told him he was just a piece of meat she'd ride if she got stoned enough crawled under his flesh like an infestation. 

Usually he was careful around her, treading on the threads of conversation like they might break but he’d felt safe with her in the corn crib. The threads formed a hammock, holding them together through long lazy afternoons and he laid his soul bare. He thought she’d understood him and accepted him. It had all been a trick. She needed to know her deception was exposed. He knew her for what she was now. Just another person using him for easy labor and paying him in a cheap and easily peeled veneer of friendship. Fuck the drone. This was personal. You didn't kill with a gun or an airlock when someone had earned a one on one, and you didn't verbally skin someone over a speaker. 

He stormed back down the steps, making as much noise as he could. Always let them know you're coming. Intimidation was important, especially when you didn't have much to back it up. He jerked open the door, slapped on his greasiest smile and slid out of his bunker, pulling the door closed tightly behind him. He'd need somewhere to retreat later. 

"So why the hell are you crying, Emori? I'm the one who just got told I'm unfuckable." 

"What do you think the corn is?" she asked. 

John took a step back, pressing into the door and moving away from her. He hadn't been prepared for the hitch in her voice and the camera had dulled the red of the rims around her eyes. "It's an aphrodisiac." 

"It's a fear suppressant. It concentrates on the hulls when it's dried." 

"You're afraid of me?"

"Of you? No. Of this? Us? Yes. How can you not know that? We spent all winter curled together against the cold like lovers but never became lovers. Why?" 

John swallowed. He didn't have a good answer. The bad one was that he needed food and a warm place to live more than he wanted to get laid. He'd made a choice to ignore a possible great thing for a solidly good one. 

She continued, "When my brother came for me in the Spring, he could see that we were happy. He wanted me to be even happier. I... refused to change things, so he bought the corn for us." 

"Your brother bought you sex corn?" John's mind flipped back to Atom staked to the tree just for kissing Octavia. Grounders had a different way of seeing the world. 

“Is anything but fear stopping you?” she asked. She lifted her oversized, clawed hand, putting it on display between them. She no longer covered it around him, but she still tried to keep it out of sight. "I am the weakest member of my line, and that my parents didn't have the strength to kill me as an infant proves that I was raised with more weakness. No man on Earth will have me, and then you fell from the sky and told me my failure was _badass _."__

__John shook his head. They'd talked about her hand and where it placed her in Grounder society before. He could understand it intellectually; there had been a class system on the Ark. As a practical matter though, this was Earth. She was as smart, ruthless, and loyal to her inner circle as Clarke or Lexa could ever dream of being. She should have ruled the place like a queen. "It's just a hand. It doesn't matter."_ _

__"I know you say that, you've said it more than once, but no man from Earth would ever have me, and even if he would I couldn't risk having him. My children would carry the same curse." Her eyes darted away, looking everywhere but at him. "Is it true that Sky People can't bear children?"_ _

__"We have to go to a doctor and I'm a criminal, so they won't ever let me have one." He saw her relax - the answer was apparently the right one - and when she stole a quick glance at him, he decided this ship was already close enough to capsized that he might as well throw another wave at it. "We could practice though. You don't have to keep score to enjoy playing the game."_ _

__She was so quiet as she spoke he wasn't certain of her words, but it sounded like, "We could."_ _

__"What do you want, Emori?"_ _

__"I want the corn. For me, it will take the fear away."_ _

__"What will it do for me?"_ _

__"Without fear of the consequences, you'll speak the truth and only do as you wish. That's why it's not an aphrodisiac. For some it is an ending, not a beginning."_ _

__"But you'll speak the truth, too?" he asked. "You'll tell me if I'm just what you're settling for because you don't have other options?"_ _

__"You see me as I am and you still seem to care for me."_ _

__"Yeah, back at you." He ran a hand through his hair, pulling on it when he reached the ends._ _

__She offered her hand to him. "Will you come with me to the corn to see what is real?"_ _


	6. Chapter 6

The setting sun made the dancing dust motes glow with a faint reddish light as John and Emori walked into the corn crib together. She hesitated at the doorway and stole a glance at him. He replied only, "This is your ritual." 

She sighed and her eyes searched the room. The corn wasn't deep enough yet to burrow deeply into and spending time knocking more kernels from cobs seemed anti-climactic after the long, slow walk here from the lighthouse. 

He asked, "So how, exactly does this work?" 

"The oil from the corn concentrates on the skin of kernels as it dries. We received small doses as we were shucking the fresh ears. If we take off our clothes and roll in a bed of it, we'll have no fear of anything. Not the truth. Not the consequences. We will just be who we truly are."

"If we take off our clothes?”

She stared at the dirt floor and dug a hole into it with the toe of her worn shoe. “At least some of them. It works on the skin. There is a reason people think it is an aphrodisiac. It’s not though. It just gets to the truth.”

“What if it turns out that deep down I'm… not a good person? Will I be able to stop myself from hurting you?" 

"You know too much about who you've been. I know who you are now. That you will physically hurt me isn't one of my fears." 

John leaned against the wall. He already felt exposed and the lingering sting of rejection still burned despite her assurances that he’d misunderstood what was going on. Losing the people he cared about was the constant thread of his life. Without fear of loss to keep him grounded would he be nothing but rage? She was literally betting her life that he wasn’t who people thought he was. 

She’d come after him when he’d left her in the barn. No one had ever come after him before. 

When she hunched over and began fumbling with her shoelaces, only then did he realize that, despite having lived together off and on for months now, she'd always avoided putting on or taking off her shoes around him. With one large and less dextrous hand it was a challenge for her. He slowed his own progress as much as he could, but even with his best efforts, his socks and shoes were off while she was still struggling with her first set of laces. She squinted her eyes and bent over her work, curling into a ball and trying to hide her struggle. He didn’t want offer to help, which would basically be pointing out something that already upset her, but his stillness was obvious, too. 

Fuck it. 100% success or 100% disaster. It’s not like there was a middle path on this one. He kicked off his own shoes then pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on top of them. His hands trembled as the button on his pants refused to cooperate, and he finally managed to strip them off at the same time she finished with her first shoe. She looked up at him as he dumped his pants into the pile and let her eyes roam him from head to toe and back again, her smile suggesting that she approved of his choice. 

Boxers was basically just shorts, a warm day wardrobe, he told himself. Just pretend it’s hot. He definitely felt hot, blood pumping, shallow breaths, need to lie down, hot. "It works on skin contact and you want me high as a kite on truth serum, right?" 

She nodded.

“I’m not doing this alone. Let me help with your shoe.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“Unless it also sprays patience into the air, you need to hurry up and take off your clothes.” He grabbed her shoes and tugged at the laces, undoing the knots and quickly slipping them off. She pulled her top shirt over her head revealing a tank top without no bra and then stopped. 

“I don’t have underwear.” 

John took a long, slow breath - the fucking corn really should have sprayed patience - and then cuffed the hem of her pants and folded them up until they were past her knees. "Let's get in the corn." He stepped over the low wall, working his feet towards the bottom as the kernels shifted underneath him. When she climbed in, he offered a hand to steady her.

"We should lay down. More skin contact," she suggested while tugging at the hem of her shirt. 

"You could fold that up. Expose more skin." 

She looked terrified. The corn obviously hadn't had enough of a chance to work. 

"Or not. Whatever makes you happy." 

They both stared around the room, looking anywhere but at each other, as they waited for the corn to work its magic. 

He said, "Before you're high, tell me what you want."

"It's not the unfiltered truth yet." 

"But you've thought about it." 

"I want to know if you truly care for me, and, if you do, I want to know how much of me you want and for how long." 

John forced his head to move up and down in agreement. Yes, of course on some level he wanted to know what she wanted long term. He also knew that wanting things wasn't worth shit and didn't mean you could hold on to them even if you could manage to get them for a while. He wanted as much of her as he could get for as long as he could hold on to her, he just wasn’t optimistic about their odds of growing old together rocking on the porch of their bunker and staring out at robust fields of radioactive, drug-leaking crops. 

He wanted to know if she was ticklish, if she prefered the flick or the swirl of his tongue, and if she kept her eyes open when she came. He wanted to hear his name panted breathlessly by a woman thinking about nothing but how good he was making her feel. He couldn't think about years. They'd come or they wouldn't. He wanted a rich pile of minutes. He wanted to see her truly, fearlessly happy. They’d made it this far, and the words were easy to give her, with or without the corn. "I love you." 

She tilted her head, puzzled. "Are you sick?" 

"No." 

"Those are deathbed words for my people. A final goodbye." 

"So what do your lovers say?" 

"They tell the truth when they feel it." 

"You aren't making this easy." 

"It's not supposed to be easy," she said. "It's supposed to be real." 

He nodded and sat down in the bed of corn. His threadbare boxers, worn, patched hand me downs held up by a drawstring through the waist that had replaced the elastic that had given way on some previous owner years ago, did little to protect him from the hard nubs and pointed ends of the red kernels. "So we just wait for the drugs to kick in?" 

She nodded and moved her leg through the shifting contents of their stall then crouched down and plunged her arms through the kernels so they brushed against her as she moved. He’d seen a lot of people doing the same thing recently. No wonder the hunt for the battery had gone so strangely. He huffed a dry chuckle and laid back, settling down into the rolling contents of their temporary bed. "We could make out while we wait." 

"Is that what you want?" 

He couldn't find the energy to soften his tone. It was a stupid question. "Yeah." His hand reached for her, grabbing for what he wanted and not worrying about subtlety. So this was life without fear. His fingers slipped inside the waistband of her pants and tugged her towards him. "Come here." 

Her pulse was racing and her breaths uneven, still uncertain, still worried, but John was confident. He'd studied, knew his techniques, and knew they wanted each other. Anything less than skin on skin was laziness. There were plenty of fair ways to criticize him, but lazy wasn't one of them. 

She let herself fall to her knees beside him and he pulled her down on top of him as much as she'd allow. Lip to lip, shoulder to shoulder, nothing to fear. Little kisses turned long and deep, but still she held back. 

"Give in to it," he said breathlessly. "This is amazing." 

"John?" 

He startled at the break in her voice.

"Do you really not mind that I am a mutant? A stain?" 

He grabbed her larger hand and pulled it towards him, placing it against the bulge tenting the worn fabric of his boxers. "Do you still, really, think I fucking mind? I mind that you're not naked or jerking me off or _something _, but I don't give even a little shit about the size of your fingers."__

__"You please me, John Murphy, and I'd please you if I knew how."_ _

__"Knew how what?"_ _

__She leaned in, kissing his cheek briefly before whispering in his ear, "How to jerk you off."_ _

__He laughed. "Seriously? All my studying and you want a lesson in that?"_ _

__She drew back enough for him to see her smile as she nodded her agreement. She offered her more typical hand, but he declined it. He said, "If the point is to get past the fear, let's get past it. Give me the big one."_ _

__She hesitated and he cursed himself for not rolling her into the corn under him earlier. He was flying and she was still afraid._ _

__"If you wilt under my touch, it would not be good for us."_ _

__He rolled her onto her back, sliding up her shirt as she went to bring more of her skin into contact with the corn and then slid a hand between the junction of her thighs. He ran a fingernail over the fabric, making a loud scratching sound. "One pussy in the corn is enough. Quit being a giant one and give me your hand."_ _

__"You have no fear of my stain."_ _

__"The only thing I fear is what I'm going to do if you keep calling my friend a stain. She got dealt a shitty hand." He smiled without humor, acknowledging his pun but not enjoying it. "I'm an orphan and a criminal, and you don't hold it against me."_ _

__"What would you like me to hold against you?"_ _

__With a few quick movements he rid himself of his boxers and showed her how he liked to be touched. It was just plain better with her than it had ever been with anyone else. Maybe because he could say what he wanted instead of settling for being grateful for whatever he could get, but probably, too, it was better because it was her. She cared if he liked it and watched for how he responded to her touch. She kissed him. She didn't flinch and draw away at the end of the moment, and when he opened his eyes again she was smiling._ _

__"Was that OK?" she asked._ _

__He nodded that it was, but it was one of the rare times in his life when he found himself speechless. She'd told him not to say "I love you" and so he didn't, but it was all he wanted to say. He understood that for her it would have been like hearing "may we meet again" - which meant they wouldn't - but he didn't have other words. Somewhere in his brain were stored Shakespeare's sonnets and the poetry of the Barrett Brownings, but none of it could swim to the surface of his mind._ _

__Without words, he resorted to action, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her neck. Her tank top slipped off, although he couldn’t say if he’d taken it off or if she had, and he lingered at her breasts, noting the way she bucked against him when he tugged at her nipples with his teeth. He banked that information for later. They’d have later. He wouldn’t give up their later without a fight. He had to remember to tell her that. She wanted to know. Now, though, wasn’t the time for words._ _

__His kisses drifted lower and Emori arched into him, rising up to meet him whenever he tried to pull back a little to look at her. He slowed at the button to her pants, the last barrier, and tried to remember anything he’d learned, but it all seemed blank. Something about tomatoes._ _

__“Tell me if I’m doing this wrong,” he said._ _

__“I’m still wearing pants. You’re doing it wrong.”_ _

__Challenged, he got to work. Pants off, legs over shoulders, dive. She squeaked at the first swipe of his tongue but her sounds quickly turned deeper, needier, and so he gave her more, crooking his finger inside her until she made it obvious he’d found the spot. She ground herself into his touch and his tongue, and the entire world was lost in the taste and scent of her. She was suddenly quiet when she came, as if she’d run out of noises to express joy, and the clench of her around his fingers was gentle but somehow changed the world and his place in it._ _

__He could make someone happy._ _

__He reached for everything he'd learned - he could do this again; he could deserve her even by Grounder standards. He could keep her - and gently nudged her up the hill of a second peak. This time she called his name as she came. High pitched and ragged, but still her calling for him. "John."_ _

__He moved up the length of her body. She seemed small as she undulated her body underneath him. Not fragile, just concentrated strength. Now they were completely bare, unprotected, skin on skin, their heads aligned, his shoulders only slightly lower than hers as he braced his weight on his arms, and his hip bones rested against her pelvis. He whispered in her ear, "I'm right here."_ _

__"You could be closer," she said._ _

__"I like the way you think.”_ _

__"No baby?"_ _

__"I couldn't give you one even if you asked me to."_ _

__"Then you should be mine and I should be yours."_ _

__He dropped his head to her shoulder and placed a gentle kiss there. "Pretty weird time to quote scripture."_ _

__"Explain."_ _

__"'I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine.' It's a four thousand year old poem."_ _

__"Truth is eternal."_ _

__The full weight of her words settled on him. Eternal. She’d asked how long he wanted her. The answer had always been “for as long as I can have you” even if she didn’t know it. He didn't care if no one remembered them in a thousand years, but he cared if she'd come back from her next mission with Otan. His pulse quickened at the thought and his chest tightened until it was hard to breathe. She might not. What she did was dangerous._ _

__"Emori..." he began._ _

__She cut him off. "Your body is rejecting the corn. Your fear is returning. Sometimes it comes in a rush."_ _

__"Maybe," he conceded. He was sweating but felt cold. There wasn't enough air in the room._ _

__She pulled him out of the corn bin and then went back in herself, returning with his underwear. She handed it to him and slipped on her shirt as he put on his boxers "What will calm you?" she asked._ _

__"Come back to the lighthouse with me. Promise to stay. Forever. Stay safe."_ _

__"I will go mad if I enter the lighthouse."_ _

__"That's just a superstition."_ _

__"The voices had been whispering to you when I found you."_ _

__John thought back to the time before she'd arrived. He'd been going steadily mad. Maybe she'd just revealed the cause. His pulse quickened again and he wondered if he was healthy enough to survive a heart attack. His emotions surged. Rage. Fear. The corn had a hell of a kickback. He screamed into the night, "Computer!!"_ _

__They heard the buzz of the drone as it approached before they could see it. It hovered in the doorway, vaguely glowing in the darkness that had followed the sunset._ _

__He asked, "Were you driving me crazy when I first arrived at the lighthouse?"_ _

__"Confirmed. Subliminal programming was used on a person classed as an intruder."_ _

__"And now?"_ _

__"You are part of the food chain for the technology seekers. I require their services, and so I require yours."_ _

__Anger began to replace fear. He knew about anger. You managed it, refined it, used it to your advantage. “So as long as I feed your thieves you won’t melt my brain. Great. What's Emori?"_ _

__"Emori is a keeper of the land, like you, and a technology seeker."_ _

__"Can she go in the lighthouse?"_ _

__"Yes."_ _

__Emori's voice quivered as she asked, "How long can I safely stay?"_ _

__"Twelve hours."_ _

__John threw a handful of corn at the hovering drone and yelled, "Not good enough." Immediately he chastised himself for losing control of his rage. Never advertise your weakness._ _

__Emori asked, "Computer, how did Otan get permission for John to live in the lighthouse?"_ _

__"He explained the logic of it and asked for permission to implement his plan."_ _

__Emori turned to John, still fearless enough to ask the question but recovered enough to be hesitant. "Are you sure you want me?"_ _

__John heaved an impatient breath. "I’m not going through this again. Get back in the corn."_ _

__She punched him in the arm too solidly to be considered gentle but not hard enough to do real damage. "Computer I wish to be classed as a keeper of the land and a courier. I need to spend more time here for the next several months to help with the harvest, but I can still take food to Otan and his crew. John and I will tend the animals and defend the farm and food stores throughout the winter like we did last year. In the spring he'll need help with the planting just as he did this year. I request permission to live in the lighthouse with John when I'm not travelling to feed Otan and the technology seekers."_ _

__“Without evidence of substantial improvement to one or more areas of concern if your position is changed, there is no reason to disrupt a functioning system. Permission denied.”_ _

__Emori nodded, and rested her head on John's shoulder, reluctantly accepting her fate._ _

__There had been a time when John would have accepted a command from on high without fighting, too. He knew his place in the system and he’d learned to accept that he’d always be to blame in some people’s eyes. He had learned a few things on Earth though. If you framed reality correctly for the right audience, you could get away with anything._ _

__"Computer, when Emori is here with me is the rate of compost build-up for soil creation greater than when she's away?"_ _

__"It is."_ _

__It was because they shucked so much corn the goats couldn't eat all the husks while she was here, but it was still natural recycling._ _

__"Computer, are the animals healthier and more productive when she is here with me?"_ _

__He already knew the answer. Lady MacBeth liked Emori better than she liked him and would tolerate being milked longer. She’d brought drugs to treat the cow’s mastitis and, at the end of one long and very disgusting week, Emori had arrived and taught him how to cure diarrhea in the sheep._ _

__"They are."_ _

__"When she is with me, Emori contributes to the health of the land and the animals in a way that no other person has been shown capable of doing. Is there any other member of Otan's technology acquisition squad capable of playing Emori's decoy role?"_ _

__"Four of the seven group members have served in that capacity."_ _

__"Logically, Computer, Emori would best serve your goals if she lived in the lighthouse with me and made occasional trips to supply the food chain of your technology acquisition squad."_ _

__"Position change request approved. Emori is now a keeper of the land and courier. Primary physical assignment: lighthouse station."_ _

__John smiled like a well-fed lion, then wrapped an arm around Emori and drew her in against him. They’d triumphed. If literature and art were any guide, they were supposed to kiss now, and some traditions were worth preserving. The drone hung in the air, seeming to observe them for a moment, but when no further attempts to engage it occurred within sixty seconds it flew away._ _

__When the buzz of its rotors had faded, John said, “Ready to go home?"_ _

__"I have a home." She smiled and met his eyes without letting the welling tears fall from hers. "We have a home."_ _

__“My castle is our castle now.” He knelt down, slipped a shoe on her foot and began tying it for her._ _

__Looking down at him, past her bare legs, she said, "You forgot my pants."_ _

__"I didn't forget." He stood up and took her hand. "I like you just the way you are, and this night is a long way from over. Let's go home."_ _


End file.
